Summer in Paris
by librariani
Summary: Hermione spends the summer after the Battle of Hogwarts in Paris. She quickly starts feeling lonely, until George shows up. Together, they explore the city, deal with George's grief and form a bond much deeper than before.
1. An English Girl in Paris

**CHAPTER ONE – AN ENGLISH GIRL IN PARIS**

"Un pain au chocolat, s'il vous pla_î_t," Hermione Granger said, standing at the counter of her new favourite _boulangerie _in the fifth _arrondissement_ of Paris. She liked this borough, the _Quartier Latin_. It was full of beautiful little bookshops, and she enjoyed constantly being surrounded by Parisian students who she saw each day sitting outside the cafés, eating lunch, drinking wine, and laughing together. These young people, just as thirsty for knowledge as she was, sometimes made her wish she could go to university with them as well. But she was quite certain that her degree from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry wouldn't get her anywhere here. The language barrier, on the other hand, wouldn't have been a problem. Hermione spent about three hours every day sitting on her bed in her tiny apartment, studying French books, dictionaries and practicing her pronunciation. She also spent a large amount of her time working in a bookshop, so she was able to practice speaking French daily. She enjoyed her job a lot. Being surrounded by books calmed her down and made her feel right at home.

It was hard to believe that only two months had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts. It all felt so far away, like she had begun a completely new life from one day to the other. She hadn't spoken to anyone since she'd left for Paris about a month ago. She had originally wanted to take Ron with her, but he decided to stay with his family since they were going through a rough time. Fred's death had been particularly hard on the Weasley family and Hermione had understood that Ron wanted to stay with them. She did miss him, but she was glad she had decided to come here anyway. Ever since she was eleven years old, her life had been all about witchcraft and magic and figuring out all the mysteries that surrounded Hogwarts. Her life before that was nothing but a distant memory. She had put off seeing her parents, who didn't remember her. She just wanted to live a normal, muggle's life, at least for now. She enjoyed the anonymity. No one knew her here. No one knew she was a witch. And sometimes, Hermione forgot about that herself.

Her wand was stored in a small blue velvet box in her wardrobe, covered underneath a bunch of shirts. She hadn't used it at all since she came here. She wished sometimes that Ron could be here and see that life could be quite nice without magic, since that's all he'd ever known. She often picked up a pen and paper, wanting to write a letter to him, but it was hard for her to find the right words. It truly felt like she was in a different world now. Everything and everyone was far away. Including Ron.

She thanked the salesclerk – "_Merci_!" – and went outside, greeted by the warm sunlight. Quite a lot of people noticed her. People that might not have noticed her a couple of months ago. She had been inspired by the Parisian women and had actually taken an interest in fashion – something she'd never used to care about. But now she was wearing a beautiful white dress with pink flowers on it – which had cost her half a monthly wage –, her lips were bright red and her hair was curled. She even moved differently. More elegantly and gracefully. As she walked down the street and bit into her Saturday morning breakfast, she smiled to herself wondering what Ron would think if he saw her like this. At the corner of the street, a man from a foreign country asked her for directions. That man had actually thought she was from here. She smiled a little brighter as she carried on down the street. Yes. She had changed. But there was nothing wrong with that, was there!?

She sat down on a bench and watched the passers-by. She talked briefly to her new friend Guillaume, a young French student who worked part-time at the same bookshop as her.

"_Bonjour. _You look nice," he said in French.

Hermione smiled. "Thanks. What are you up to?" she replied, in French of course. She was proud of every single world she was able to understand and every single one that she was able to utter.

"I'm just on my way to the university. I have an exam coming up next week and I really need to catch up on some things."

She nodded, forging a smile. Hearing this made her miss school, and even exams.

"Listen," he said, "A friend of mine – he studied art and just graduated this year – is having his very first gallery opening this evening. Would you like to come?"

Hermione had previously told Guillaume that during her time in Paris she had noticed that she knew way too little about visual art.

"Yes, absolutely," she said.

"Great." He got a piece of paper out of his backpack and scribbled something on it. "This is the address. It starts at six."

"I'll be there," she said. Guillaume said goodbye and left Hermione twiddling with the piece of paper in her hand. She had been enthusiastic about the gallery opening a minute ago, but suddenly she was debating whether or not to go. Yes, she enjoyed the anonymity in the city. But it was right then that she realized she felt completely alone. Guillaume knew her as nothing more than the English girl who was spending the summer in Paris. He didn't know her, not really. No one here did. Hermione realized that she was alone, and she would still be alone if she was surrounded by all the other people who would attend the gallery opening.

The sun suddenly disappeared and was replaced by a large dark grey cloud. Confused about her own sudden change of disposition, she went straight home to her apartment. For the first time in a long time, she took the wand out of the blue velvet box. She looked at it as if she saw it for the first time. "Accio French books," she said and her own voice seemed foreign to her. The books flew towards her and she felt a slight pain as they hit the palm of her hand.

_I can still do it_, she thought. _Thank God._

She didn't know why she thought she might have lost her abilities. Probably because she hadn't used them or even thought of using them for so long.

She put the books neatly back onto her nightstand. She picked up pen and paper and started writing.

_Dear Ron,_

_I'm sorry it took so long for me to write to you. I was just trying to get away from everything. I've been having a really nice time here. I can already speak French quite well and I've met some nice people. I'm fairly quite certain that if you came here, you wouldn't recognize me. I'm actually wearing a dress with flowers on it this very moment, can you believe it!? I know. It's difficult to even imagine._

_I hope your family is well, or at least as well as they can be, given the circumstances. Please send them my love, will you?_

_I miss you terribly. I don't know for how much longer I'll stay here._

_Love_

_Hermione_

She read the letter two more times before she put it in an envelope, put a stamp with the Eiffel tower on it and stuck it into a mailbox. She was hoping he would get it, since the Weasleys weren't used to getting anything other than owl post. But she wasn't worried. He'd get it. He had to get it.

She didn't go to the gallery opening that evening. She just sat on her tiny balcony, sipping on a glass of wine and watching the people outside. She knew that soon it would be time to leave. But not yet. She was not ready to leave the city behind, and she wasn't ready to let go of the girl she had become. The girl who knows her way around Paris. The girl who wears dresses with flowers on them. The girl who's more than just a book-smart geek.

The following week, Hermione focused purely on work. After her day at the bookshop was done, she went home to her apartment or offered to help dust the shelves. She no longer felt like taking long strolls around the city. She wanted to keep herself busy, and she wanted to do somethinguseful.

That Friday night, as she was sitting on her bed reading her first novel in French, she heard the buzz that she only heard when her landlord came by to remind her that she was late on rent. She'd paid in time this month, and she couldn't think of anyone else who it could be. She realized that none of her Parisian friends even knew her address.

She pressed on the button which opened the door of her building. She listened to the footsteps coming up the stairs and when her visitor finally reached her floor, Hermione's jaw dropped and she was speechless for a moment.

"_Bonjour, mademoiselle_," George Weasley said with a grin on his face.


	2. Can I Sleep On Your Couch?

**CHAPTER TWO – CAN I SLEEP ON YOUR COUCH?**

"George!" Hermione exclaimed. "My God, what are you doing here!?"

She ran out of her apartment and gave him a hug in the hall. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's great," he said. He was smiling, but Hermione couldn't help but notice that there was a sadness in his expression that hadn't been there before.

"Come on in," she said and directed him into her apartment. "It's not exactly roomy in here, but…"

"It's nice," George said, passing the old wooden furniture and noticing several vases of flowers. "I never thought of you as a flower person though." He turned around to look at her. She was wearing a pink sweater and a black skirt. "Or one who dresses so… elegantly."

Hermione tilted her head to the side and gave him an annoyed look, but she was smiling. "Look, George, don't think I'm not glad to see you, but… why are you here?"

"Right." He sat down on a brown sofa in a small room that was both kitchen and living room. He scratched his head on the side where his ear had been cut off. "Ron got your letter. I was home when he got it. When he realized it was from you, his face lit up like it was Christmas. He was so happy."

Hermione smiled, but thinking of Ron caused a stabbing pain in her chest.

"Anyway, he told me and Ginny that he really wanted to visit you, but… It's been good on Mum, him staying home. He told me to tell you that he wishes he could see you but he needs to take care of her. She's, um…" George was searching for words. It made Hermione sad how much he seemed to have turned into a much sadder version of himself. "Mum can't stand to look at me. She never said that, she never would say that, and I don't think she wants to admit it even to herself, but… I mean, I get it, you know? _I_ can't stand looking at myself. I covered up all the mirrors in the burrow, because I can't stand it, so why should I expect her to?"

"Oh, George…"

"It's alright," he said. "I realized that me being there wasn't making anything better. So I decided to leave. Just go somewhere else. I told Ron I'd come here, and see how you were doing." He looked up at her and smiled. "It seems to me you were happy before I came, huh?"

"No, don't say that." Hermione pulled out a chair and sat down next to him, looking concerned. "Your Mum loves you, you know that, right?"

George didn't reply.

They sat there in silence for a moment – George was staring at the floor, Hermione was looking at him worriedly –, then George got up and it was like he had taken the sad-mask off his face – or put on a different one. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I really just came here to see how you were and tell you Ron sends his love."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you. Look, everything is going to be fine, okay? George?" – "Yeah?" – "I'm going to take you to a bakery downstairs and I'm going to buy you a French croissant – okay?"

George laughed, and Hermione was glad she'd managed to make him do that. "Okay."

"Come on."

"This is delicious," George said as he was taking a full bite of his croissant. "Why didn't I come here sooner?"

"Wizards often don't even think about going to a place full of muggles," Hermione said.

"That's a shame," George said. "A real shame. Muggles can do great things, I mean, taste this! Hey, how do you say 'I'd like another croissant' in French?"

"_Je voudrais un autre croissant, s'il vous pla____ît!__"_

"Okay, I didn't get any of that," George said.

"Well, I'm glad you're feeling better," Hermione grinned.

"I am." George nodded, staring into space, seemingly lost in thoughts. Then he looked at her. "Thanks, Hermione."

She smiled. "My pleasure, George."

"You know, you're different here," he said.

Hermione sighed. "I know. Do you think that's a good thing?"

He shrugged and watched an old lady order large amounts of cakes and pastries. "If you keep being so nice, then yeah."

"I was nice before!"

He turned to her and gave her a mocking look that said "Yeah, right!" "'You can't do that! – That's against the rules! – You'll get expelled!'" he mimed her.

"Shut up," Hermione said but she was laughing. "You seem to have gone back to your old self."

"Does it?" he asked, in a suddenly very serious tone. "'Cause sometimes it seems to me like that'll never happen."

They were interrupted by a waitress who took away their dirty plates. George and Hermione just stared at each other. Hermione couldn't quite figure out what he was thinking. He had that sad smile on his face and he was looking her right in the eyes, and it didn't feel like they were talking about Fred anymore.

"Can I get you anything else?" the waitress asked in French.

"Two more croissants, please," said Hermione without taking her eyes off George.

After a few more seconds, George leaned back. He opened his mouth to say something; he hesitated, and finally asked: "How would you feel about me staying a while?"

Hermione looked at him, a bit confused as to what exactly this staring-contest had been about. "That'd be nice," she said.

"Can I sleep on your couch?"

"It's a really small couch."

"I'll just make it bigger, then."

Hermione hesitated.

"I want you to cover half the rent," she said.

"Fine." He seemed amused.

"Fine."

They sat in silence as they ate their second croissant serving. George was acting strangely. And not just in a He-just-lost-his-brother-and-he's-very-fragile-rig ht-now-way, but he was speaking and acting like he had the upper hand in… something. When they got back to Hermione's apartment, she watched him enlarge the sofa and get his pyjamas out of his bigger-on-the-inside suitcase. He looked at her. "Would you mind not looking while I change?" he grinned.

Hermione furrowed her brow. "Sure. Good night, George."

"Good night, Hermione!"

Hermione went into her bedroom, still confused. Something was up with George, and this wasn't about Fred.


	3. Sick Old Moose

**CHAPTER THREE – SICK OLD MOOSE**

Hermione woke up early the next morning, whereas George was still asleep at eleven o'clock. She went outside and got some of the croissants he liked so much and woke him up by placing a plate with it right in front of his nose.

"Morning, Hermione," he said, rubbing his eyes. "My, it's wonderful waking up and immediately seeing something so sweet."

"What?" Hermione asked, perplexed.

"The croissant." George grinned. "What did you think I meant?"

Hermione felt embarrassed. "Oh," she said. "No, I meant that too."

She was standing beside the sink with her back turned, making a face that George couldn't see that said, "God, stop being silly!" She turned around, wearing a smile. "So, what do you want to do today?"

"Oh, I don't know." George took a large bite of his croissant. "Maybe see the Eiffel tower, learn some French swearwords, and eat nothing but croissants all day!"

"Well, I won't teach you any swearwords because you just won't be able to hold yourself back and you'll say them to everyone you see, which would be terribly embarrassing," Hermione said. "But I will show you the city."

And she smiled as she said that because she was so happy and proud to be able to finally do that.

xxxxxx

"Wow," George said, "It's really high. Have you been up there?"

"No," Hermione replied. "Look at the line. It's going to take forever to get up there."

George looked at her. "Excuse me?"

"Well, it – oh." Hermione looked at the ground when she realized what he meant. "I haven't actually used any magic since I got here."

"Why not?" George seemed surprised.

"I don't know. I guess after everything that happened I felt like living a normal life again."

"You mean like the muggles?"

Hermione tilted her head to the side and looked at George as if he were a little schoolboy who needed explaining for something completely mundane.

"Yes, that's what I mean. That's what I consider normal. Even after all this time." She looked up to the top of the Eiffel tower and flinched when she suddenly felt George's hand on hers.

"Let's go up there," he said.

"But what if someone sees us?"

He shrugged. "They'll be confused at first, but then they'll think they only imagined it. Funny thing about muggles. They don't trust their own senses, so they don't see what's right in front of them."

They apparated to the top of the tower and landed in the midst of a large crowd of people, all of them speaking different languages, all of them holding cameras and posing for pictures.

George pulled Hermione to where they could enjoy the view. "Wow," Hermione whispered. She'd seen a lot of Paris, but she'd never seen it from up here. She smiled at George. "Thank you," she said to him.

He turned to her. "For what?"

"For showing me the city."

xxxxxx

After a long day of walking around, George and Hermione rested their feet in one of her favourite cafés near the university. "I like being in this part of town," she told George.

"Why, because of the… intellectual energy?" he grinned.

"Hermione?"

They were interrupted by Guillaume. Hermione looked up at him and forged another smile and said Hi. She liked Guillaume, but George had made her remember a part of her life she had kept hidden in a box in her wardrobe, and she was glad he had. And now there he was, the French muggle, history books under his arm, none of them mentioning anything about the Wizarding Wars or about Harry Potter.

Harry. Oh, how she missed him. How she missed everyone.

_I don't belong here anymore_, she thought.

"How are you? I missed you at the gallery opening," he said in French.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't have time that evening after all." She noticed Guillaume looking at George. "Oh, this is George. From England. He's here visiting."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Guillaume," Guillaume said to him in English. His French accent was almost non-existent.

"Oh, hi, I'm George," George said and shook his hand.

"So is this your boyfriend?" he asked.

Something strange happened when he said that. Hermione started laughing – then she stopped, because she realized that George wasn't. Then he did start laughing, but it was a very strange, fake laugh. Guillaume looked confused.

"No, he's… he's just a friend," Hermione said.

"Oh," he said. "Well, then… I don't want to bother you. Have a nice night. I'll see you around, Hermione."

"Well, look at that," George said after he'd left. "French-guy here thought I was your boyfriend." He was smirking.

"What are you grinning about? It seems like he made you a bit uncomfortable there."

"What?" he asked in a high-pitched voice, sipping on his glass of wine.

"You were laughing like a sick old moose with the hiccups."

George burst into laughter and spat his wine all over the table. "A sick old moose with the hiccups," he said giggling. "Blimey, Hermione, are you funny in Paris?"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh herself as she wiped her side of the table with a napkin. "I think we can blame it on your influence."

He kept laughing on their way home and every time Hermione would tell him "Stop it!" he would laugh even harder.

When George was already tucked into bed and Hermione was about to say good night, George said to her: "I had a lot of fun. I haven't had this much fun with anyone since –" He broke off.

Hermione smiled at him encouragingly. "Get some rest, George."

She went into her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She took a picture out of her suitcase and looked at it with a sad smile. It was of her, Harry and Ron and the photograph was moving. She missed moving photographs.

She decided that as soon as George was ready to go back home, she would come with him. Paris was great, but something she'd learned today was that being happy is not about where you are but about who you're with.


	4. Dizzy and Tired and Sad

**CHAPTER FOUR – DIZZY AND TIRED AND SAD**

"Are you sure it's safe to go in there?"

"It's nothing to be afraid of, George."

"Well, have you been here before?"

"Once. What is with you, anyway? You don't hesitate to fight against Death Eaters but you're scared of this?"

They were standing in front of a night club. George had a doubtful expression on his face as he watched some dolled-up girls going inside, giggling and taking pictures of themselves with their phone, and Hermione could tell he didn't like the music coming out of it.

"And you like coming here?" he asked.

"Not particularly," Hermione admitted. "It is a bit crowded and loud and it's difficult to have a conversation."

He looked at her. "Then why are we here?"

She tilted her head and looked at him reproachfully. "I believe your exact words were: 'Come on, Hermione, let's go someplace exciting where we would never usually go!'" She mocked his voice. "Why do you have that sudden fascination with going to muggle-places, anyway?"

"The croissants," he said. "I've never tasted anything like them." He took one more step toward the building. "Alright then, let's go," he said, suddenly more poised. "I better have some stories to tell when I get back other than, 'We ate French croissants and it was great.'"

After going inside, George looked around in amazement. "Wow!" he yelled at Hermione over the loud music. "Look at all the lights! How did they do that without magic?"

"It's called electronics!" Hermione yelled back.

"Cool!" George said and they made their way through the crowd.

"Muggles are really awful at dancing," George said. "Hey, do you want to dance?"

"You go ahead," said Hermione, who felt smothered in the midst of all the sweaty people, jumping from one foot to another and thinking they looked cool. "Do you want me to get you something to drink?"

"Muggle-drinks? With alcohol?" he asked and Hermione nodded hesitantly, not sure what would happen to George if he were to drink something, since he was already acting silly when he was sober.

Against her better judgement, Hermione ordered something for her and George. When she got back, she saw George was dancing in the middle of the crowd, constantly turning around looking for a dance partner. When he eyed Hermione on the side of the dance floor, he made his way to her.

"I like it here," he said excitedly. "I don't completely understand the concept of this place, but… I like it."

Hermione gave him half a smile and they clinked glasses. She was glad George seemed to be enjoying himself, but she just wanted to leave.

"Hey, what's wrong?" George said, noticing her expression. "My, you really don't like it here, do you? Doesn't surprise me. All these people having fun, no one sitting in a corner with their nose in a book…"

Hermione was about to say something back, when George squinched up his face. "This is disgusting, by the way." He handed her his half-empty glass. "I suddenly don't feel so good," he said. "Is it hot in here?"

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, worried. Then she looked at his glass and realized what was wrong. "Oh God… George, you don't react well to alcohol, do you?"

"Well," he said, "I wouldn't put it that way, I mean… Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. It depends on the alcohol, I think."

"I never should have taken you here," Hermione said and she took his arm and led him out of the club. When they reached the exit door, George took in a deep breath of fresh air and sat down on the dirty ground. "Oh boy," he said. "Muggles aren't good at making drinks. I'll have to remember that."

"It's not the muggles, it's you," Hermione said and she sat down on the floor next to him. "You shouldn't have made me get those drinks, you should've told me."

"You know, I just get really dizzy and tired and… and sad sometimes afterwards, really quickly," he told her. He suddenly seemed worn out. "But I never accepted that, you know, because of Fred." He snuffled and wiped the nose with his sleeve. "He never got dizzy and tired and sad. He got even happier, you know, it was like he'd just had Felix Felicis. Not that he had a lot of luck afterwards, but his state of mind was like he, you know, like he'd just had some." He started playing with a twig. "And so I just thought, since we're like the same person, I just – You know, Hermione." He turned to look at her. "I've never told anyone this before. And I've never thought this until after he was gone, but… I sometimes wonder who I am without him. You know, all the pranks we did and all that, it was mostly his ideas. It was always him. I sometimes wonder how things would've been if one of us hadn't been born. Fred would've still been Fred without me. He'd have been exactly the way we knew him. But I don't know who I would've been. I don't even pull pranks anymore now, not really. I just don't know what to do anymore, I… It's just that every morning, when I woke up, Fred was there. Fred was _always_ there, and it was never, 'Fred did this' or 'George did this', it was always 'Fred and George' and now what?" He broke the twig he'd been holding. His thoughts came out unsorted; sometimes he was mumbling, sometimes shouting. He buried his face in his hands. "It's like losing half of yourself, Hermione, I'm telling you," he said and his voice was trembling.

Hermione took his hands away from his face. He looked up and she saw a tear running down his cheek. "I'm so sorry, George," she said. "I wish there was something I could do –"

He shook his head. "Sometimes I just refuse to believe it. I just think to myself, 'Fred's away in Africa or something and when he gets home, he'll bring back a flying elephant.' But see, he's not in Africa. And there's no flying elephant. He's just gone."

"Have you talked to him?" Hermione asked.

"What?"

"To Fred. In a picture."

He nodded. "Yes. A couple of times." He actually smiled a bit now. "It helps, but on the other hand, it doesn't, you know?"

"Well, I don't know if this is going to make you feel better," she said. "But you are still _someone _without Fred. If you would've been the prankster we know if he hadn't been there, who knows. But you still would have been the guy we _love_, George." He looked up. "You still would have been brave and kind and caring. And you _would_ have been funny. But, see… Fred _was_ there. And I'm sure you've been happier for it. And he's been happier with _you_ than he would have been if you hadn't been there. And you must have all these great memories with him that you wouldn't have had otherwise. And maybe it's harder to move on this way, but… It's better to have had Fred and lost him than to never have had Fred at all."

George furrowed his brow. "It's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all," he said. "That's how that saying actually goes."

Hermione smiled. "I think it works both ways."

He nodded, and then suddenly broke out into a brief burst of laughter. "You always make things better," he said.

She squeezed his hand and got up. "Do you want to go home?"

He nodded. He got up off the floor and wiped the leaves off his trousers. He gave her a hug from the side and said: "Ron's a lucky guy."

And they walked back to Hermione's apartment in silence.


End file.
